


Kiss It Away

by werewolfsaz



Series: Hooked [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, But only a bit, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, New Relationship, Physical Abuse, Prom, Rickyl Writers' Group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfsaz/pseuds/werewolfsaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In almost no time at all, Daryl was at his destination. He swallowed nervously as he parked the bike at the curb, turning off the rumbling engine. His palms were sweating so much and he scrubbed them on his thighs before he remembered he wasn’t wearing his ratty old jeans.<br/>“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he sighed, lowering his head to catch a glance at himself in the wing mirror. His stomach dropped slightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss It Away

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. This is my first time writing in TWD fandom and I hope that you enjoy this.  
> Comments as my bread and butter so please let me know what you think :-)  
> Many thanks and enjoy

Daryl yanked at his collar uncomfortably, his pale blue tie knocked askew as he fought the urge to rip it the fuck off. He smoothed his hands down the sharp lines of his new slacks (slacks, for fuck’s sake! Him!) hoping that they wouldn’t be too obvious. He tugged at his cuffs, fiddling with the buttons of his only smart shirt. His fingers messed with his hair, desperate to get it to behave just once. He wondered if he should shave it off again. It had been so much easier to deal with clipped close to his skull.

He smiled softly, shaking his head, undoing all the work he’d put in to straightening the unruly bangs. Nah, he liked it like this now. It had good memories attached now.  
“Weelll, don’t you scrub up pretty?” Merle’s mocking voice echoed around the house. “All this for some shithead townie that’s just gonna make a fool outta ya?”  
Daryl huffed an angry breath. The brothers had had this argument more than once and he really wasn’t in the mood for it now.  
“Don’t you have some shit to shoot up while Momma's in hospital?” the younger Dixon snarled back. He didn’t see his brother’s eyes go wide then narrow dangerously. Lunging forward, Merle hit Daryl across the mouth with his open palm.

The younger boy stumbled back, wincing at the slight sting as he felt his lip burst open.  
“You watch your mouth to me, boy,” Merle snapped. “Luckily for you I got places to be or I’d stay here and whoop you like I should.”  
“One day you won’t be able to smack me about no more,” the younger boy growled back. Eyeing his brother warily, Daryl rolled his split lip into his mouth, the slight sting and taste of blood only fuelling his anger. With a last glare, he spat blood and saliva at his brother’s feet, bolting out the door, firing up his bike and roaring away before Merle could beat him bloody.

**  
In almost no time at all, Daryl was at his destination. He swallowed nervously as he parked the bike at the curb, turning off the rumbling engine. His palms were sweating so much and he scrubbed them on his thighs before he remembered he wasn’t wearing his ratty old jeans.  
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he sighed, lowering his head to catch a glance at himself in the wing mirror. His stomach dropped slightly. 

His lower lip was raw, puffy and crusted with dried blood. All that hard work, scrubbing himself raw to get clean, working extra shifts to saving up for new clothes and Merle had ruined it with a slap (plus he had forgotten to put on his only decent shoes so was stuck in his biker boots) With a growl, coz Dixons don’t back down dammit, he swung off the bike and walked towards the house.  
His heart started pounding hard, sweat making his brand new shirt stick to his back. He hoped that it wouldn’t be too obvious. His feet tangled together nearly pitching him on his face but he managed to save himself by sheer luck and quick reflexes. Wondering if he could still make a break for it, fuck Dixon's not backing down, Daryl reached out with trembling fingers and rang the bell.

After about a million years (a few seconds, whatever) the door opened to the one thing in this world that could calm Daryl down. He felt a smile stretch his face, flinching as his lip pulled again.  
“Took your time, Dixon,” Rick Grimes drawled, blue eyes sparkling as they swept over the teen in front of him. A frown replaced the smile when he saw the raw looking lip. Reaching out he gently tilted Daryl's chin up to inspect the damage.  
“What happened? Are you alright?” Rick asked softly, stepping closer. Daryl closed his eyes, swaying into the warmth that Rick gave off all the time. He felt the other teen’s fingers slide down his tie, pausing part way down. Blinking his eyes open again, Daryl looked down and saw a smear of blood on his brand new pale blue tie.

“Fuck!” he yelled, yanking at the strangling piece of material, determined to throw it as far away as possible. The knot tightened the more he pulled, the ends getting tangled together creating a huge mess. Tears of frustration and shame burned his eyes as he ripped at the tie which continued to elude him.  
Then Rick’s soft fingers were pushing his away, picking the knot open and sliding the tie off. He ran his hands through Daryl's hair, down the back of his neck, massaging his shoulders before slipping one hand back round to pop the top two buttons open on his dark blue shirt.

“That’s much better,” Rick purred. “That’s the Daryl I want to see.”  
Flushing, the younger Dixon let his eyes flick up to meet the other boy’s, smiling at the pure adoration he saw there.  
“Thought you wanted the proper prom experience? Dressing up and slow dancing and maybe screwing up at Hook Point,” Daryl teased back, finally letting his gaze drop to Rick's outfit. He looked stunning in simple black slacks, white shirt and blood red tie. 

Rick brushed a tender finger over the split lip, the frown coming back. Lowering his head, he fluttered barely there kisses to the wounded flesh, trying to sooth the hurt.  
“I’m gonna kick Merle’s ass,” he huffed against Daryl's mouth, the promise clear in his tone.  
“It ain’t nothin',” Daryl dismissed only to gasp as Rick yanked him closer, slotting their bodies together in a way he was sure Rick’s parents would disapprove of.  
“He ain’t got no right to lay hands on you like that,” Rick snarled. He gazed into Daryl’s eyes for a long moment then kissed him again.

“You know what? Fuck prom. I wanna meet your Momma. Let’s go see her instead. We can slow dance and screw around another time. I want her to see you all dressed up.”  
Daryl’s cheeks started to burn again as he stared into Rick’s face. The slow, soft smile on his boyfriend’s face (and weren’t it strange to call the hottest guy in school, the guy voted most likely to start screwing queen cheerleader, Lori, his boyfriend) made something in Daryl’s chest to warm and liquid.  
“Do your folks want pictures first? That’s the way this works right?” Daryl asked shyly.

They posed for the obligatory photos, Rick’s mom fluttering around them, cooing and beaming, snapping so many pictures Daryl was worried he would be seeing spots forever.  
Then they climbed onto Daryl’s bike, the only thing of his Dad's that Merle had ever parted with and that Daryl had slaved over for years to restore.  
With the feel of Rick pressed tight against his back, cheek resting between his shoulders, arms wound around Daryl’s waist and cradled between Rick’s strong thighs, they sped off into the night.


End file.
